


Cry Me A River

by ATeirney



Series: Evelyn 'Evie' Davids [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Butch Deloria is Bad at Feelings, Crisis of Faith, Ellen Deloria (Mentioned) - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, James (mentioned) - Freeform, Loss of Faith, Loss of Parent(s), Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATeirney/pseuds/ATeirney
Summary: The loss of James finally catches up to Evelyn and Butch comforts her the only way he knows how, with an empty insult and a haircut.
Relationships: Butch DeLoria/Female Lone Wanderer
Series: Evelyn 'Evie' Davids [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806403
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oversizedfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oversizedfish/gifts).



Butch could hear her crying in the other room, knew why too. And who could blame her? Evelyn had always been one of the soft ones growing up. She could take a hit better than most, but it didn’t take too much poking to find the cracks in her armor. It was something he’d learned quickly as a kid. He would watch for the way her eyes welled when he or the boys hit too close to home, the little tremble in her lip as she held in tears just long enough to steal away and hide. When they got into their spats, he paid attention, and certain topics were always off limits. He’d call her a teacher’s pet until the end of time, make fun of her hair or freckles or whatever superficial thing he could find. She’d call him an asshole and an idiot; offer thinly veiled challenges on the days she didn’t mind it coming to blows. But they had an understanding. He never got sleazy with his threats, she never called him a bastard, and neither of them ever brought parents into the mix.

The term ‘broken home’ had come up a lot when they were younger, mostly when talking about him, but Butch knew it applied to Evie just as much. They both lived their whole lives without a parent, never knowing a face or voice. Whatever stories or descriptions they had were vague, on account of adults struggling to hold onto the memory of the lost, or willful forgetting. The adult they had in their lives they loved but weren’t always there. James was the diligent doctor and spent most of his time in the clinic or his office, trying to get some new project to improve their lives off the ground. Ellen, well, everyone knew about her habits. 

The Doc was gone now, and Evie had been told never to come home. He’d seen that trembling lip for weeks now, tears brimming when she thought no one was looking only to be blinked away in an instant. She’d been nothing but smiles all month, but they never sat quite right for anyone who really knew her. Now the metal walls of the Megaton house did little to help her hide the muffled sobs, echoing and amplifying them just enough through the cracks that he heard everything. 

When the door creaked open, she didn’t even look up, just kept her face buried in Dogmeat’s fur, her teeth clamped around the leather sleeve of her jacket to keep quiet. It took him clearing his throat and the mutt looking up to get her attention. She looked like shit. Her usually bright brown eyes were red and puffy, there was a bit of snot dripping from her nose. But his gaze focused on something a little higher than all that as she sniffed and tried to wipe away the evidence. “You need a haircut.”

Evelyn blinked at the man for a moment, stunned motionless halfway through rubbing her eyes dry. His voice was so neutral, like he’d done nothing more than state a fact more obvious than the sun being hot. When she didn’t answer he gave her a huff, rolling his eyes and gesturing for her to follow him downstairs. “Come on already, let’s make you look decent.” There wasn’t any judgement in his voice, and it finally clicked. Butch, for all his trouble communicating, was offering her the only comfort he knew how to give.

Sliding out of bed she followed him downstairs like a sulking child, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. The house wasn’t filled with vault relics anymore, nearly bare aside from a few scraps of salvaged furniture. Thinking about home hurt too much these days, the loss sinking in more with time. Slumping into the rickety chair she watched Butch wave Wadsworth away, but she only briefly registered the argument of a real barber versus a talking mop with a saw blade. Before long he’d gathered his products and tugged her Tunnel Snakes jacket off her shoulders without a word, setting it safely aside as he got to work. 

His strokes with the brush were careful and fluid, gently working at the tangles until it ran through without a single snag. It hurt more than before, brushing her hair hadn’t been her highest priority since leaving the vault. But he managed, and soon enough her head was leaning over the sink as he brought her hair into a lather with one of the little bottles he’d set aside. Idly she wondered how he still had so many products, not putting it past him to have raided his stash from the shop before he left. No one would have noticed. It was the image of the barbershop of all things that got her crying again. Something so stupid and unimportant, but something she had taken for granted and missed all the same. Butch didn’t say a word, just rinsed and dried her hair like he would have back then, the soft snip of the scissors joining her in mourning.

By the time they had finished Evie had fallen silent, unable to muster more tears. Her chest ached and her eyes stung, but her cheeks were finally dry. Rosewood locks curled just below her chin again and were just as soft as the day she left. But she knew she wouldn’t look the same. Leather rustled behind her and she managed to look over her shoulder, the motion slightly quicker now that her hair wasn’t weighing her down. Butch had pulled his jacket back on and draped hers over her shoulders, the methodical calm in his movements faltering now that he didn’t have a familiar task at hand. He offered her a tight smile before moving past, back to his room. 

“Butch?” She was quieter than she’d meant to be, but he stopped all the same. “Do you think you could just sit with me a while?” The request was silly, she knew that, but it didn’t matter. Evelyn was tired, and she wanted to find the same feeling of growing lighter that she used to. Back when the only weight on her shoulders was a particularly sad session with a patient and a haircut was enough to reset her for the next month. Butch offered a wry smile, blue eyes soft as he turned back. “Tough little Evie needs the Butch-man to stick around, huh?” He kept his old nicknames for her in retirement for the moment and was glad when he heard a faint chortle in response. Even the light jab of her elbow in his side as they settled on the couch was a relief. They hadn’t fixed anything, not really, but that was okay. She had a friend looking out for her and permission to let the smile fade, he had someone watching his back and a way to help her that he knew how to do. For now, that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn continues to struggle with the loss of her father, driving her to new vices and forcing her to face some long-repressed doubts about her faith.

“Question. Is there a God? And if so, does he give a shit about the rest of us?”

Evie used to have an answer to Three Dog’s question, or at least, thought she did once. But things had changed since she left home. The door to Vault 101 was closed to her forever now, and for the first time since she had stumbled into the sunlight, she felt truly alone. The grave at her feet was shallow, the ground packed too tightly to dig as deeply as she had wanted, and it was marked with only a flimsy wooden cross. Whiskey dribbled down her chin as she took another swig from the bottle, her face contorting at the burn it sent down her throat. She knew he would have disapproved, she never would have touched the stuff before, but it didn’t much matter anymore. James was dead. Her father was dead.

She could still see it, the way he choked on the radiation as it flooded the chamber, how his body had given out as he crumpled to the floor. And she was alone, sitting before his grave halfway through a bottle, with no more tears left. It had been easier to believe back in the vault, while not exactly luxurious her life was a comfortable one there. It made sense that someone up in the sky watched over them when every need was taken care of. At least most of the time. If she was truly honest her faith had never been as ardent as her father’s. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, she said her prayers over every meal, every night before bed, attended the little services every Sunday. She read over her mother’s old bible every time she yearned to see her, which ended up being often. But the words never brought the same comfort to her that she saw them bring others, and as she got older, she started having more questions than answers.

Why had God allowed the bombs to drop in the first place? He knew everything, so why not change the course of people’s lives to save them from the destruction? Why was it that she never felt the comforting presence so many of her elders spoke of? Why had her mother been taken from them? She kept these questions to herself of course, the fear of disappointing her father far more potent than any thought of being struck down. But for all her efforts the doubt and the guilt remained, settled deep in a piece of her heart she tried to ignore. And then the doors opened, and James had fled into the wasteland.

The sunlight had been blinding when she had limped up to the surface, the sky so big and oppressively open that she felt like it would swallow her whole. She hadn’t imagined that the light of day could feel so cold and harsh. Dragging her way to Megaton had been a chore but it was nothing compared to the pain in her chest as she realized the world that had been left behind in the rubble. Everywhere she looked she saw so much pain, so much anger and violence painting the landscape red. She learned what it was to starve, to fear for your life at every turn, to kill in order to stay alive until tomorrow. And once again that doubt began to whisper at her ear, to creep further into her heart and mind even as she tried to ignore it. The world was cruel, but people could be good. The God her father had spoken of with so much love and reverence could not have left them if people like him still existed, trying to make the world a better place.

But James was dead, the project he had dedicated his life to was unfinished, and all that remained of his legacy was what she could salvage from the wreckage. A man who had done nothing but good work, God’s work, his whole life now lay cold beneath the dirt without so much as a ‘thank you’. If God was real, if he cared at all for his flock then why didn’t he save him? Was it her fault? Had her lack of faith condemned her father to death? Did the lives she had taken require some sort of sacrifice to balance them? Was this her fault? Or was there nothing up there but empty space and a cold unfeeling star to light the sky? Evelyn didn’t know which was worse, so she drank. And as the sun set on the horizon the girl sat before her father’s grave. Her smile was gone, and only a shadow of the pride and joy James had raised was left.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Butch directly, hopefully I didn't butcher him too much. (pun definitely intended)
> 
> Hope you like your gift my friend! Thank you so much for helping me brainstorm for this and inspire me to do more with these dorks <3


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